Ice Cream
by MeisterPear
Summary: Sealand has decided to ask Wy on an ice cream date. Although it doesn't go to plan... Rated M for infrequent cursing and general rudeness. This is my first story written and published on FF, so bear with me. Rating and reviewing is appreciated!


**Well, hello there! As you already know, this is my first story published on FanFiction, although this story has existed for quite sometime before now, having been hiding in the recesses of my Google Docs for months on end. I have finally mustered up the courage to make it public.**

 **This story was spawned from casual ideas thrown around in a private chat with a friend, so I apologize if that's all it sounds like when you read it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated for that reason ( _psst you already said that)_ , so I encourage you to do so.**

* * *

The pitter-patter of hard-soled boat shoes reverberated throughout the halls of Buckingham Palace.

 _Click clack._

 _Click clack._

 _Click clack._

 _Clop._

Abruptly stopping, Sealand halted at a large, grandeur door, embroidered with lace of firm, delicate gold and painted with a gleaming, ivory finish; allowing the echoes of his footfalls to fill the relatively spacious foyer, rebounding off the walls, silencing slowly.

The micronation raised a stretched arm to the door knocker, but to no avail. Too high up.

That didn't stop Sealand from hopping up, taking hold of the door knocker with two hands, and swinging his body like a pendulum, hitting the gate with both feet, in order to get the attention of England, presumably on the other end. This was his room, after all.

After a few seconds of hanging, the door all of a sudden opened, sending an exhausted Sealand to the marble floor.

"What in blazes..?"

England turned his attention downward at a little boy who seems to have busted his ass.

"Peter...a pleasant surprise. What brings you here? Let's help you up."

England grabbed the boy by his sides and hoists him up, akin to a father with his child. He stood him upright, and returned to his original position, smirk plastered on his face.

Sealand wasted no time in delivering his response, a red hue of his cheeks faintly visible.

"I'd like to go on a date with Wy."

England stands dumbstruck, as if he got hit in the face from Hungary's frying pan.

"Pardon?" he finally manages to ask.

"A date. With Wy." Sealand taps his foot impatiently.

"DATE", he emphasizes. "D-A-T-E…" Maybe spelling would work. He knew England could be a tad bit slow at times.

England adapts an annoyed face, a little peeved at Sealand's response.

"I know what a date is, mind you", he snaps. "What I don't know is, why?"

Sealand shakes his head left to right, refusing the older Brit's question. All it did was make him look even more childish.

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that at the time."

Now, England liked little Peter. Hell, he loved him like a son. Ever since his birth a few years back, he's been dealing with all his hardships and problems. But, as every father should know, kids are...frustrating at times.

England deadpans his next statement, a stern tone to his voice.

"Alright you little shit, I asked a simple question."

England arches his back and outstretches his hand, placing his thumb and index finger on his temples and rubs.

"You. Are bloody _TEN_. Do you even know what a date is?"

Sealand pouts, features flushed. A short period of time passes, probably while he thinks, before he nods to end the question.

England swears he can hear a vein pop as he exhales, officially done with this conversation.

"Fine, you can go." Sealand happily bounces up and down, satisfied with England's response.

"Where do you even plan on taking her? Have you even asked her?" England still posed many questions, baffled by the child's blind ambition.

Sealand balances on the heels of his shoe as he responds.

"To the ice cream shop near Leicester Square. And for your information, yes, I did ask her. She said yes!" Sealand continues to bounce around, without a care in the world, seemingly oblivious to what he had done.

England is once again floored, this time by the micronation's poor planning skills.

"What would you have done if _I_ had said no?"

Sealand's reply came in the same tone as before, as if his words held no weight to them.

"Oh nothing, probably would have cried myself to sleep, wake up the next day feeling miserable, get a call from Wy saying that I ditched her, lose my only friend, never smile again, until my pent up animosity persuades me to poison your tea! Simple, really."

England's mind goes blank, unable to process the enigma that is Sealand's thought process.

"I'm taking you to Wy, and then I'm going to bed." England replies to the empty space above Sealand's head, an underlying tone of malice and indifference in his voice.

* * *

Sealand steps out of Papa England's limousine, ignoring Arthur's goodbye and slamming the car door shut. A car horn pierces the relative silence as Sealand looks back to see England slamming his head on the steering wheel.

Returning his gaze forward, Sealand bounds toward the ice cream shop, searching for anywhere where Wy might be waiting for him.

He finds her at a nearby bench, doodling in a notepad. He takes this moment to look at her from a distance, taking in all her features. Her mahogany hair, brown with a tinge of red mixed in. Her lightly tanned skin, kissed by the sun. Surprising, considering she paints inside most of the time. The way her dainty hands beautifully dance across the pad, creating mesmerizing patterns and designs unparalleled by any other.

Of course, her appearance wasn't the only thing about her that made Sealand adore her. She was very kind and sweet, even if she initially came off as hostile to him. He knew better. Her infectious smile penetrated even the densest of personalities, even managing to make Switzerland crack a smirk at the last World Conference.

Whelp, Sealand's probably been staring too long. He ain't that kind of guy. With a skip in his step, he approaches Wy, whose eyes are still absorbed in the drawing. At the end of his skipping journey, he takes one big jump, and lands right onto the empty part of the bench, scaring the absolute shit out of Wy. Her head snaps to the young country as her body recoils back in reflex. She desperately attempts to salvage her pride by adopting a pouty face and hurriedly crossing her arms, smock sleeves enveloping her arms like a puppy in a warm blanket.

"W-what's up Sealand? D-d-didn't hear you c-coming…" Wy sputters out haphazardly formed sentences, akin to a broken washing machine.

"Well of course you didn't, you were busy making magnificent art, as always!" Sealand dons a large grin as Wy dons a large blush.

Regaining her composure, Wy straightens up as Sealand looks down at the sketchbook in her lap. On the paper was a field of sunflowers, dancing in the wind. It truly was a beautiful sight, the attention to detail was immaculate. Every bend, impression, and shadow was accounted for. Sealand began to wonder how fast she drew. Or...how long Wy had waited…

Not willing to keep her waiting for longer, Sealand gets up from the bench.

"Alright, you've waited long enough. Let's get some ice cream!" Sealand flashed a smile as he extended a hand to help Wy up from her seat.

Wy politely put her hand into his, and righted herself before walking with Sealand over to the order window, hands still interlocked.

Wy had hung out with Sealand for quite some time, and while she thought she had acted a bit too harsh at their first meeting, Sealand mustn't've cared. That's what she liked about him; he wasn't deterred by any negativity thrown at him. But of course, he was very sweet, and always tries to spare her from any rudeness, and stands up for her, and treats her chivalrously, and-

"Wy? You okay?" Sealand waved his hand in front of her face.

Wy quickly escaped her thoughts and brought herself back to the present. She quickly donned a grin, remembering that she was at an ice cream stand.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" Wy makes a mental note to not daydream about Sealand in front of him.

"Okay, well, what flavor do you want? I'll order for you!"

Wy weighed her choices before going with a classic.

"Vanilla please. I'm not one for fancy concoctions." Wy, honest to god, preferred vanilla over anything else. She never acquired a taste for any other favor, even something as simple as strawberry or chocolate.

Sealand nodded obediently, then shuffled up to the counter. Behind the register was a lanky looking man, one whose height made up for his lack of muscle. He appeared to be no older than twenty five, probably a bratty teenager looking for some easy money.

The cashier looked down at the duo: one in a sailor's outfit; the other wearing a smock and a large ribbon. Both held hands and brandished a smile. The cashier wore a smirk, he was about to enjoy what was to come.

The cashier leaned over the counter, one eyebrow cocked.

"And WHAT do you kids want?" He put stress on the 'what', as if he knew the answer.

"Yes," Sealand started. "I would like a orange sherbet bowl, and my girlfriend Wy will take a vanilla cone."

Wy blushed at the mention of her name and 'girlfriend' being used in the same sentence. While this was only their first date, she certainly didn't mind. For Sealand to think that they were already close enough to call her girlfriend...it spoke volumes.

The cashier simply curled his hand and examined his nails, clearly not planning on servicing the two.

"You," He pointed at the young sailor. "Have a girlfriend? Aren't you like, five? What kind of five year old gets a girl before I can?"

Wy's face contorted to an expression of disbelief, while Sealand's face showed agitation. Before he could say further, the impolite cashier spoke up again.

"And also, don't expect to get any ice cream. Gotta have an adult with you. New rule, established RIGHT NOW, by ME!" The cashier cackled, spite laced into his laughter like venom in a snake's fangs.

Sealand stood there, exasperated, clutching Wy's hand even tighter to rival the grasp coming from her end. A sniffle, almost inaudible, could be heard from the small girl. Hearing this only made the male micronation even madder. Before he got the chance to give the jerk a piece of his mind (and maybe his fist), the cashier opened his mouth again.

"Alright, GOODBYE!

GOOD RIDDANCE!

AND GET THE FUCK AWAY!" The cashier then slammed the metal curtain down toward the counter, almost taking Sealand's hand with it, leaving the duo dumbstruck and mortified.

Sealand was at a loss for words; the amount of anger he felt ineffable. Wy, on the other hand, cutting off blood flow to Sealand's wrist, decided that actions speak louder than words.

The floodgates opened, leading to streams of tears running down the painter's cheeks as she broke away from the seaman's clutch and ran off.

"Wait! Come back!" Sealand yelled, but to no avail. Wy ran away from the stand, out of Sealand's sight.

Sealand hopelessly waited for a reply, but the effort was futile. Sealand turned around toward the sealed window where he had attempted to order, as if he expected it to be unshut, and the abusive cashier replaced with a joyful, amiable individual. But 'tis not how the world works.

* * *

People are insulted solely because of social status or wealthyness. Millions around the world are deprived of their basic necessities of life because of oppressive governments and corrupt individuals. Countries go to war over silly squabbles about land or resources.

Just like England had said all that time ago.

"Sealand, you can't be a country. You have no military forces, no natural defenses, no diplomatic training...going into the world would only get you killed and leave me broken."

The micronation had remembered the words so vividly in his mind. And while ice cream may be leagues below the injustices that the world faces on a daily basis, he could at last say that he has been mistreated by the scum of the world.

And so had Wy.

But Sealand wasn't content with no ice cream.

He wasn't content with Wy weeping over some douchebag.

He wasn't content with mistreatment.

He was going to find Wy, and get her some damn ice cream.

Sealand ran from the countertop and glanced around the bustling city street. Taxis hitching people rides, crowds mingling with one another, storefronts beckoning for customers to sample their products; there was no way he'd find Wy in all this mess. Luckily, he didn't have to.

The Principality of Wy in itself was a very small country. After all, it was just really one house. Wy wasn't per se, "used" to large crowds. She typically stayed inside and painted all day, provided she wasn't with Sealand. Sometimes, she painted while she was talking to Sealand. Sometimes, she even painted Sealand.

Regardless, the male micronation knew that she had to be somewhere in the area. Australia was most likely the one who flew her to the UK and drove her over here. He doubted she had even left the block.

His assumption was proven true when he discovered Wy in a nearby alley way, hugging her knees to her chest, eyes sore from tears.

Sealand hurried over to the shivering form, who appeared to be too distraught to even glance over at him.

"Wy! Oh my God, I finally found you! Are you alright?" Sealand took a seat next to the female artist and put one hand on her back.

"Yes, I'm fine…" Wy mumbled, obviously not fine. Her sketchbook was open to a blank page, adorned with only teardrops.

Sealand grimaced at her state. He had never seen her in a state like this. She had always prided herself on being the mature one, yet she cried over a lack of ice cream. He did not care.

"You are not fine, and I plan to change that!" Sealand asserted, voice still quiet, but with some of his trademark determination mixed in.

He softly grabbed her wrist, and tenuously tugged her arm toward him, in an effort to get her to follow him. She looked at him with a face of mild resistance, before solemnly agreeing to get up. Sealand wasted no time in rushing toward the back of the ice cream shop, quickly dashing behind a dumpster, virtually dragging the small girl behind him.

Before she could say anything, he hushed her with one of his fingers on her lips. Wy could pick up the faint taste of sea salt.

Seconds later, the cashier that had caused so many problems simply strolled out of the building, absentmindedly whistling, oblivious to what would happen next.

Sealand grabbed the vanilla and orange sherbet.

Wy painted "CHILD HATER" on the front of the shutter.

They happily walked away, arms interlocked, savoring their ice cream and their crime.

Ah well, they were countries. They could do what they want.


End file.
